Death, Be Not Proud
by Azar443
Summary: There are some things that neither Life or Death can take away forever. Some things that are taken from you in Life, are given back in Death. Even love.


**Author's Note: I stopped watching Merlin after Arthur's relationship with Gwen started, no offence to those who love Gwen; I never liked her nor the character of Guinevere. So knowing how the ending of Merlin absolutely _sucked_ for ArMor fans, and yet not knowing what had happened in the Merlin universe, here you are, a story of how Morgana and Arthur meet in Avalon. Because they do. I sort of dismiss Arthur/Gwen here, though they are still married and honestly, Morgana and Arthur aren't siblings. Simply because I never thought they were siblings. So do read, review and enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin nor the characters, and also the Arthurian legend itself.**

* * *

Death had never seemed so comforting.

She had expected it to be cold and hard and cruel, to snatch away all semblance of life and breathing, to tear away at one's soul till nothing remained but the bits and pieces of memories that eventually faded into the wind, leaving nothing but the empty, lifeless husk of flesh humans cared for and prided themselves so much in life.

But when death came with a silent strike into her belly by Excalibur, Morgana thought that, as she slowly slipped into the clammy yet soft embrace of Death, it felt very much like burrowing into the soft, silky covers of her old bed as she reveled in the safety and comfort of Camelot, of _home _because a long time ago, that's what Camelot was to her; her home to return to after exhilarating rides and beating Arthur at sword fighting. Camelot was where she returned to after the death of her father, where she played with Arthur as children and bickered with him as adults in the royal courts and danced with him to the scrutinizing eyes of the people. Home was where _Arthur _was, where she loved him long and true.

And yet, hatred brought them both to their knees; both once proud figures never bowing to the other, being broken and beaten down by hate and love and agony and bitterness all rolled into one big royal _mess_. So many years spent fighting and killing and plotting, trying to force the other into submission; one for his kingdom and Queen, the other for her revenge and broken trust a little girl saw shattered by the people she loved the most. Uther, Arthur, Gaius, Gwen, even Merlin. And how she longed to see them fall; one by one by one like the toy tin soldiers that Arthur once received for Christmas.

Were you to ask Morgana, right now, whether she was content –after all, Uther and Arthur were both dead; surely two out of five were better than nothing?-, she would surprise you when the only word she would utter with despair was _no._

_Tired. Defeated. Hurt. Wanting. Bitter. Angry. Love._

Once upon a time, Morgana was a little girl who dreamt of her wedding in white, with grand music playing in the halls of Camelot as the people fawned and awed over her lovely figure swathed in the softest silk imaginable as she twirled happily, safely in the arms of her prince. Her beloved prince who loved her, cherished her; who whispered quiet little '_I love you'_s into her ear and making her blush, who tenderly set a lock of ebony black hair away from her beaming face.

One night, when Morgana was 18, she dreamt of her childhood dream yet again, and she smiled in her sleep to know that she would have the happy ending that she _deserved. _But Fate had a strange way of goading you along with seductive promises of joy and happily-ever-afters and just pushing you over that innocent looking cliff the moment you think that you've found your utopia. She finally saw her prince's face, and as she stared into the icy blue eyes of a smirking Arthur, the dream _shattered._ And all Morgana saw of the remnants of her wonderful, perfect dream were tiny little shards, flying all over a dark, pitch black abyss where malicious and gleeful whispers told her '_You were never born to be queen, he has another destined for him, _right _for him; never _you._'_

As life had dealt her its harshest blow, in death, Morgana resigned herself to eternal pain and despair. But perhaps, somewhere in the tangled ruins of her life, she must have done _some _measure of good, for someone somewhere took pity on her when she woke up to see the wonderful shades of apple trees scattered across a wide expanse of ground. Gentle wind danced its way over to her, tingling her arms and hair and face and Morgana could have sworn, that somewhere in this strange, comforting place where Death suddenly seems powerless, or at least, horrible, soft wisps of laughter and chattering sounded throughout the entire place.

Rising onto shaky legs, some hazy, dormant part of her mind registered the fact that her wound pained her no longer, and that no warm blood trickled down her ruined black dress. Walking slowly forward, Morgana took in the ruins that lay within a ring of ancient, craggy trees. Strangely drawn to the only visible sign of human existence, she found herself nearing the ruins, feeling as though she was being led gently by some invisible specter who wished her to satiate her curiosity.

And behold, for lying against the broken wall with green vines creeping up upon them possessively, was golden haired, blue eyed Arthur. King Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot. Husband to Queen Guinevere, leader of his men. Stern, fierce eyed Arthur who charged into battle with no regard for his own safety as he swung his sword gracefully to slice through the flimsy armor of his enemies. Little Arthur, who had initially detested the presence of little Morgana who had just lost her father, but eventually offered her the first sign of friendship through half a cookie. Chocolate chip, she recalled, that the Cook had just baked, fresh off the oven. Arthur, her best friend, her partner; her love that could _never_ have been.

Silently kneeling down by his still form, she tenderly caressed his bloody forehead as she tried to wipe away the dried blood caking his golden head. She was relieved to feel his slow, barely-there breath, but somehow she knew, that here, in what _must_ have been Avalon, Arthur would never die. And neither would she.

Slowly, slowly, as she just held his broken body, his heavy lidded eyes slid open, straining to take in the strange world Merlin had deposited him in, alone. Becoming aware of the soft body currently pressed against his, Arthur took in a ragged, deep breath to find the sweet scent of jasmine assaulting his senses, and he cried out her name with relief and joy, even as he clutched to her tightly. Perhaps Merlin had not left him so alone after all.

Morgana, bitter, world weary Morgana then wept as she swept her love into a fierce, demanding embrace. She rejoiced in the feeling of his strong, calloused hands running over her back as they both wept for their lost innocence, for their hatred, for their fallen men and friends; for each other. A heavy sob escaped her parched lips when she heard him rasp into her ear, "I knew you would return, my Morgana, I believed it though they would not. I knew that one day I would hold you again in my arms bereft so long of your presence and that we would not be parted again."

And as the two most powerful figures in Camelot cried and laughed and as their tears mingled and slipped away joyfully into the lush green ground, Avalon finally granted the lovers' dearest wish. The once broken, shattered body of Arthur straightened and healed till the once and future king of Albion stood tall at his full height, bearing his love with him. The dark blood that once marred his furrowed brow now cleared to reveal the smiling, unlined face of the young man who was once the Prince of Camelot. He smiled, running his fingers across the beautiful, once more gentle face of the woman he had long ago decreed to be his Queen. Her raven hair was tangled and snared no more; smooth strands of coal black hair flowed silkily through the rifts of his fingers as he softly kissed her full lips once more. Torn clothing vanished, leaving in place the majestic red tunic and gown bearing the Pendragon insignia as life suddenly sprang into the empty grounds of Avalon.

Fairies, pixies, goblins, even imps darted out of hiding as people whom Morgana was sure were all druids and priestesses and mages and wizards and oh, all kinds of magical beings simply _appeared _to bow before the King and his true Queen. Fanfare erupted, and creatures danced and sang to magical circles as they wove ancient blessings of luck and love upon the reunited couple. Laughing, Arthur and Morgana were ushered deep into the midst of a forest that was most certainly not there before. A golden crown each appeared on their heads and though they spoke not a word of their desired union, a priestess stepped forward and in a commanding tone, inducted the ancient rites of marriage upon them. And as wine goblets were hurriedly pushed into their hands, they drank to the vow that in Death, they would forever be bound and Arthur started as a brilliant fire of gold leapt out and entwined their linked hands and flames gently licked their skin and disappeared once more.

Suddenly, as abrupt as their entrance was, the inhabitants of Avalon vanished once more, content to allow the lovers all the time in the world to love and to live. Morgana giggled at the stunned look on Arthur's face and gave him a quick kiss, "Better get used to it, _husband;_ looks like we'll be in Avalon for quite some time." He cocked a golden brow at that and gathered her in his arms, bringing his face close to hers. Breathing heavily, he caught her succulent lips in his own, sucking gently. "Husband eh? I could get used to that, _wife._" Without a warning, he swept her legs off and held her tight as he headed towards the lake he could see gleaming, not far from where they were. She squealed and slapped his chest lightly even as she laughed and buried her face in his strong chest, cuddling against him, understanding that, _finally_, she was getting her happy-ever-after, even if it wasn't the way she imagined it. And in some ways it was perhaps, better this way, for even Death would not part them now.

From afar, in another land and another time, a pair of ancient yet unassuming warm blue eyes that remained untouched by time and space gazed fondly at the sight before him and a silent prayer sounded on his lightly upturned lips, before a brief flash of gold shone through the skies of Avalon and dissipated into the air. And all you could hear in the shining lands of Avalon on this day of reunion and meetings and joy, were the sounds of love and laughter, ringing in the dawning of a new day, one filled with hope and life.


End file.
